


Manufactus

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Honey Honey [14]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Crafts, Dating, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: It’s been too long since Steve meandered anywhere, and he finds that he’d forgotten how nice it is to do so without a time limit. He has nowhere to be, neither does James, and there’s relatively little foot traffic, so they’re mainly on their own. The sun isn’t quite as low in the sky as it will be in a few months, but it’s still late enough in the year that it gets to feeling like evening from maybe two o’clock in the afternoon.James seems to be having a great time sipping his maple latte - using his leather coffee sleeve, which he points out with a smile - and Steve just looks at the trees and the dappled shadows on the paving, shields his eyes from the low sun and watches the sparkle in James’ eyes.“Hey,” Steve says





	Manufactus

Steve is an artist, James is aware of this, and Steve knows James is aware of it.

What James is not aware of is exactly how much free time Steve has between obligations. He’s an Avenger, he’s famous, but he also likes doing things with his hands - always has - and so he takes to solving problems by himself, because he can and because it’s interesting.

It’s fall, and he and James have been bringing spiced lattes and cakes up to Steve’s apartment, or home to Steve’s conversion, or straight up _making_ them at James’. He and James have been talking about the stiff breezes and the either cloudless or overcast skies that the season brings - it seems there’s no in-between. But, although Steve loves the colors of the leaves that blanket the sidewalks, although he loves the rust colored dawns and sunsets that harbor later, shorter days and end longer, colder nights, there’s something he’s not able to do with James yet, and that’s enjoy it with him.

So he does a couple of things about it.

Firstly, because he’s not yet seen James in a cold-weather overcoat, he buys him one. He considers a blue peacoat, because he’s always loved them, but the reason he’s always loved them is because Bucky wore one, and it wouldn’t be fair (or healthy) of him to do that to James. Instead, he considers the color of James’ eyes and buys a cool-gray overcoat with an enormous floppy lapel that starts roundabout the navel, turns up at the back of the neck and stretches almost all the way out to the shoulders. It looks like a coat with a built in life-preserver, and is apparently very in-style. Jarvis gives him the size. He buys, too, a cobalt blue and silver-gray shemagh, and thinks about how both the coat and scarf might look particularly fetching over the black slimline hooded-sweatshirt he purchased for James a little while back. It has a white zipper, a white cord, and will go nicely with the coat and the scarf. James already has a couple hats - Steve’s seen a couple of his beanies - and James’ fingerless gloves will do until Christmas, at which point Steve plans to give him a pair of lined gloves.

But there are other gifts he needs to ruminate on, especially given that they’re a good portion of the way to their sixth-month anniversary, with Christmas not long after.

***

Steve drops hints, mentions suggestions, even asks James outright what he’d like for Christmas, and the only thing James says is ‘something I can wear about you,’ as he shrugs. It turns out he means, so he says, that he’d like something - a badge, a ring, a watch, a belt buckle, whatever - that he can wear and look at and be reminded. Steve has dog-tags, James does not. Something like that.

Steve thinks it’s a nice idea, and says so when James asks him in return. So they agree - a keepsake. 

Well the first thing Steve does is put into action an idea he’s had for a while, and he does it by watching a lot of youtube videos and learning a lot of new terminology and writing a list of the tools he’ll need. A polymer hammer, for example, and gum traganth. Swivel knives are not hard to find, and it doesn’t take him long to learn to use them, and then he can sit down with vegetable tanned leather offcuts and learn an ancient trade from the comfort of his own living room. With a hammer.

The second thing he does is consider a slightly more permanent, and more easily wearable, addition to James’ whole hipster look. Steve’s made rings before - there used to be very little to do in foxholes or trenches or pubs or whatever and, if he wasn’t drawing, tapping the edge of a coin with the back the spoon from his mess-kit always served him well. Dugan didn’t like the sound so much, but the finished product was always nice to have. Steve and the serum could manage a coin ring in half the time as a regular soldier, usually, and he’d always been the one to punch the holes through ‘cause all he needed was a nail and perseverance. He gave a finished one as a token to Bucky, once, and gave the rest away given that he didn’t have a sweetheart back home to give one to. He’d crashed the plane with a bent coin in his mess kit, though, an unfinished blank that he’d never punctured and finished, meant for Peggy. So he goes through his pocket change but can’t find a quarter from before 1964, which would guarantee it as silver, and so he turns to eBay. It won’t be _that kind of ring,_ they’re neither of them ready for that - Steve’s not sure he’ll ever be. But he wants something that _means_ something, and he’s only been looking for five minutes when he realizes what he could be looking for instead - and then all he’s got to do is wait for it to arrive. 

And convince Tony to let him use some tools once it does.

~

The first thing he makes and sews and burnishes and puts studs in is a strip of leather that, when flat, looks like a very small, very curved belt. He uses it as a practice piece and sets in some eyelets and some rivets in a straight line once he’s backed the piece with felt. He sets some press-studs, too, and presents James with his new coffee-cup sleeve without telling him he’s made it himself. The stitching around the edge is a little wonky and the studs aren’t all in a row, but James likes leather (so he says) and seems very pleased with his coffee sleeve. Which means that Steve’s on the right track with that one. And so he makes sure he has the right stamps and the right boards, the right cutting implements and stabililzers, the right dyes and stains and findings, and then he puts it all down and gets out his sketch book

Two layers for one, and a notched rectangle for the other. And then he just has to decide what he thinks James will like best in terms of design.

~

The quarter ring starts out easy. When the coin arrives, he cleans it and decides if he really wants to go about this the way they did in foxholes. If he bought a folding cone, he could make one that would look more professional, would have more detailing, but he decides that he likes the idea of a secret far, far better. 

So, first, he spends the whole day cooking. He makes five different meals and then freezes four of them, eats dinner with James and spends the evening with James and then, while James works during the day, he uses a hammer - because spoons are all well and good but he wants this done in the next few days so that he can buy a box for it - and sets about hammering the edge of his quarter with every spare second he’s got. 

It doesn’t take him long at all, and the frozen meals means James has no idea how little time he’s spending cooking.

~

The leatherworking is a little more complex. First, he figures out what he’s _meant_ to do, and then he starts on his learning curve, and thank God for being able to purchase scraps because there’s a good three days where, no matter how gentle he is with the knife, he can’t get his designs to emboss with the stamps afterward. 

Then he watches some different videos and realizes that his whole approach has been totally wrong.

His subsequent enthusiasm messes up his next scrap - to make the stamping easier, after he’s wet the leather, the cutting is _supposed_ to be deep. Here he was thinking the lighter the touch, the better the work, and it’s not so. So, after he’s transferred a copy of the design, he really leans into the swivel knife - and cuts straight through because he’s a supersoldier.

He picks it up, rolls his eyes, and wets a new piece of leather and _this_ time, he’s careful with the design. This is the prototype, of course - he hasn’t even begun to try burnishing something like this yet, or using the stain (which comes with some pretty terrifying warnings), and then he’ll have the other pieces to make, the findings to place. He can already see it taking shape, though, and he smiles when he finishes a rose - as long as he’s careful and pays attention, this should work out absolutely the way he wants. 

And if _this_ works, it opens up a whole lot of possibilities.

~

His only real disaster occurs with the quarter ring. Steve works the edges of the quarter until the whole shebang looks like a proper hammered ring, except with a solid middle instead of a hole. Next move is to punch a hole and file the inside away (he could use a drill but labors of love aren’t labors if you use power tools). So, thinking he’ll do things right this time, because he’s in a tower full of high-tech equipment rather than a muddy hole in the ground or a dirt-covered sleeping roll, he goes to Tony and asks for a nail and a hammer. 

“Old hobby,” he says by way of an explanation. “Used to use a spoon in the war, wondered what it’d be like using real tools.”

“Like a real boy,” Tony responds. “Help yourself.”

He finds a nice, sharp nail, which isn’t the problem. He’s good with nails - you point the sharp end down and hit the blunt end with a hammer. The hammer also isn’t the problem, nor is the surface Steve sets it on (an old wooden workbench that’s full of holes already).

The problem is that Steve, for lack of anything else, places two fingers either side of the nail to hold it in the center of the coin, and that the lovely polished coin is a little bit more smooth than something like a regular old piece of wood might be. The nail, too, has a very nice, sharp point on it. This means that, when Steve sets, raises, and lowers the hammer with enough force to punch through the center of the quarter with the nail, the sharp tip of the nail doesn’t bite into the smooth metal and, instead, skitters sideways.

It misses Steve’s hands entirely, the nail’s not the problem, he wasn’t holding it overly tightly for specifically that reason. But the hammer?

Not so much.

It’s not the first time Steve’s hammered his finger when he means to hammer something else - but it _is_ the first time he’s hammered one very vulnerable finger directly downwards onto the top of a home-hammered ring, with the same amount of force required to push a regular nail through a quarter.

“JE-” he manages on the in-breath “- _HOSEPHAT!_ ”

‘Cause it _hurts_. And he drops the hammer to lift his finger to get it in his mouth which is when he notices that the coin is still in his finger.

“You okay?” Tony says, and Steve dimly registers that he must have shouted loud enough to startle Tony because he heard Tony drop his tools.

The coin/ring chooses that moment to fall out and drop onto the wood bench and spin to a stop and then, wow, that’s a lot of blood. Fingers bleed a lot, this he knows, but still, it’s all the way down his finger and starting to bleed out along the lines on his palm by the time he turns to Tony.

“Yeah, I just-”

“If you cut your finger off in my lab, I’m not liable,” Tony says, eyeing it.

Steve sticks his finger in his mouth and tongues the semicircular cut. It’s _deep_ but he cleaned the coin- 

He remembers he’s a supersoldier at about that moment and takes his finger back out to look at it as Tony hands him a paper towel. He presses his thumb to the base of the cut, just to see, and it looks like well-cut raw steak if raw steak were kind of blue. If he weren’t himself, he’d need stitches, and the bruise is going to be a _mother_.

“Thanks,” he says to Tony, and covers the cut with the paper towel, gripping it with his other hand to apply pressure.

It stings, badly enough that it hurts his hand all the way up to his wrist. Plus he hit it with a _hammer_. His other finger, which escaped the ring edge unscathed but still got hit, is throbbing almost as badly and, when Steve looks at it, it’s going blue, too, just like the one he’s punctured. The bruises are going to hurt like hell but then finger bruises always do.

He hisses through his teeth as he tightens his grip.

“What’d you do?” Tony asks, and Steve nods at the workbench, where his little warped quarter is sitting there like it didn’t just viciously attack him.

“Hammered my finger down onto that,” Steve says.

“Oh cool, cool,” Tony says, “and you were resting perfectly good fingers on what looks to me to be basically a circular knife _because_..?”

Steve gives him a look.

“I needed to punch through the center.”

“I have drills for that,” Tony says.

“I’m trying to do it by hand,” Steve answers.

“When there’s a perfectly good drill on the other side of the workshop?”

“Well there used to be a perfectly good coffee machine in the common room,” Steve counters, “but now there’s one that whistles ‘oh say can you see, ta-daaa’ every time I push the button.”

“That’s an improvement,” Tony says, “if you can improve, you should improve,” and Dum-E, bless his mechanical heart, chooses that particular moment to prove Steve’s point by bringing over a cup of coffee. 

It is upside down (needless to say empty), and dripping the last few drops by Tony’s feet.

They both look at the waiting bot, and Steve doesn’t even need to speak. Tony just looks back at him and points a spanner in his face.

“Ah-ah!” he says. “Not a word, darling.” And then, to Dum-E, “that’s good work, kid, remember where daddy keeps the sponges?”

And off Dum-E goes. 

“I’ll fetch the butterfly bandages,” Tony says, turning back to Steve, “try not to drip on the floor, the coffee’s bad enough.”

Steve nods.

“Thanks,” he says, and looks at the coin where it’s staring at him from the bench. He narrows his eyes at it. “This is because I’m giving you away, isn’t it?” he says, but then he looks at the nail and looks at the quarter and figures, _plus ça change,_ and picks up the nail with his right hand.

Then, because he’s a supersoldier, he leans over the coin, aims very carefully, and jams the nail down into the coin, bare handed, like he’s playing darts. It punctures the metal instantly, and he smirks down at it as Tony comes back.

“You know, if you _actually_ sever something, Pepper will be very, very displeased,” Tony tells him.

Steve picks the coin up by the nail and shows Tony.

“Got a needle file?” he says, and Tony throws up his hands as he turns away.

“Over there in the tall blue thing,” he says, “heathen.”

Tony comes back to help with the butterfly bandages.

~

So Steve starts putting little things together for James, sewing or making and whatnot - never much, James doesn’t need beds constructing or whole outfits making. But he darns the holes in James’ socks if he spots them, he premixes a jar of hot chocolate powder with some milk powder and some of the spices he uses so that James can have Steve’s hot chocolate at home, little things like that. 

He keeps busy when he’s not on duty and he hasn’t started Christmas presents for the others (mostly) yet. He’s doing a painting for Wanda, and he’s trying (emphasis on trying) to make a wax ballerina he can cast into brass for Natasha - he’ll need Tony’s assistance for that one too. For Sam, he’s found a set of beautiful playing cards, with complex face cards and aces. The pip cards are gorgeous, too, but Steve has temporarily mounted them all onto a board face-down and is carefully painting a map of Sam's neighborhood from his birth year on the back. He’ll relacquer them once he’s finished.

***

The second thing Steve does about the fact that it’s their favorite time of year but their relationship is a secret, is that he grows a beard.

So when James comes up to the apartment on Thursday after work, Steve greets him at the door with the beard, and is dressed appropriately for the change in the weather.

“I never get tired of you in a turtleneck,” James tells him, reaching up to wrap his arms around Steve’s neck, “but I love this whole college professor thing you’ve got going.”

“Don’t make any extra-credit jokes,” Steve says, ducking his head so they can kiss.

“Can I make jokes about beard burn on my thighs?”

“I mean, are they jokes if they’re true?” Steve says. “But listen, come on in, sit down-”

“Coffee?” James asks, perking up, and Steve shakes his head as he walks away, heading for the bedroom.

“Not right now,” he says and, at James’ pout, he adds, “and I have a reason. Just sit on the couch and wait for me.”

He can practically feel James frowning.

“And close your eyes,” he says as an afterthought.

When he comes back, James is dutifully sitting with his eyes closed and his hands in his lap, and he hears Steve return.

“Please tell me this was a ruse and you’re naked,” James says, and Steve chuckles.

“We can do that later,” he says, “besides which, don’t get too enthusiastic about it, you haven’t seen me naked with a beard.”

“I’m pretty sure you could be naked with a third eye and I’d still find you hot.”

“Open your eyes,” Steve says, feeling the grin twisting his lips, and James does, and then looks at Steve and the coat he’s holding. “Whaddya think?” 

James raises his eyebrows.

“It’s nice!” he says.

“It’s yours,” Steve tells him, “if you like it.”

James’ eyes go wide then, his mouth opening, and he says nothing for a long few seconds. Then, 

“Me?” he says. “For _me?”_

Steve nods.

“If you like it,” he says. “You don’t have to-”

“It’s _gorgeous,_ ” James breathes. “Steve, it’s _gorgeous_.”

There’s a few moments of silence, where James just sits there, and then Steve holds the coat up a little higher. 

“Wanna stand up?” he says, and James gets up suddenly, like he’s just remembered he has legs to stand on. 

Steve opens the coat and James turns around, so that Steve can help him into it, and Steve moves James’ hair out of the way to kiss the back of his neck as their combined effort gets the coat up onto James’ shoulders.

James puts his arms out and looks at the sleeves, runs his fingers down the lapels and then hunches his shoulders up as he smiles, effectively tucking himself into the coat as he turns around.

“I love it,” he says, “and it’s so warm!”

Steve smiles, slides his hands around James’ waist beneath the coat and pulls him in to kiss him. 

“I’m glad you like it,” he says, “I thought you could wear it with that hoodie.”

James nods.

“Oh, definitely,” he says.

“Mmm,” Steve grins. “And this.”

He reaches back, to the blue shemagh that he’s tucked in his back pocket, and he wraps it artfully around James’ very attractive neck so that James can feel the fabric between his fingertips.

“It’s not even my birthday,” James says, but his face falls a little when he looks up. “I didn’t get you anything.”

Steve shakes his head.

“You can buy me coffee,” he says, “that’s the other part of the surprise.”

James looks at him, blinks. Then frowns. Then his eyes widen again.

“We’re going _out_?” he says, incredulous. 

“Think I grew this thing for the good of my health?” Steve asks, smiling as he strokes his chin briefly. “I know a nice little out-of-the-way coffee place in Brooklyn I thought we could go grab a coffee at, and we can go for a walk in the park, spend a little time-”

“Can,” James says. “We can get away with that?”

“You ever seen any pictures of me at church in the paper?” Steve answers. “I want to go outside with you. I don’t want the Pap on our tails but I wanna get a coffee and go for a walk with my partner-”

James launches himself at Steve and kisses him.

“Oh my God,” he says, eyes sparkling, “oh my God, I’m gonna go grab my hoodie!”

And he heads off towards the bedroom with an extra spring in his step.

~

BitterSweet, opposite Fort Greene Park, is absolutely tiny, completely out of the way, and serves the best maple latte and baked-in-house cinnamon roll that Steve has ever had. He means to convince James of the same thing, and opens the door for them to step inside. They took a taxi, because Steve not only didn’t want to get into leathers and drive a conspicuous custom motorcycle, but he also didn’t want to find somewhere to park. To keep up appearances, he and James took a taxi from Grand Central, not the tower, and Steve gave James the fare to give to the cab driver.

BitterSweet is warm inside, against the fresh chill of autumn, and smells like the La Colombe roasts and home-baked goods that are their trademark. Steve unwinds his scarf as he opens his coat, and notes immediately that there are donuts today.

He will be buying at least one each because they’re like clouds made of butter and sugar, and they’re not always available. The cinnamon buns are _fresh_ , which is probably the luckiest Steve’s ever been at this place, and James does actually attempt to get his wallet out. 

Steve stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I was kiddin’,” he says, and James frowns.

“I wanna buy you coffee,” he says. “You’re always buying me stuff, and I never get to-”

“James,” Steve says, “I absolutely promise that, if you like it, we’ll come back and you can pay. But I don’t want you payin’ when you don’t know if you’ll even want it.”

James’ expression is scathing and Steve can’t tell, for a moment, if he’s kidding or not.

“If I’ll even want a maple latte and a cinnamon bun,” James says. “Really.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Look, it’s one thing,” James says. “I have a prodome and a StarkPhone and homemade meals every day and lots of-” he glances around “-unmentionable things from various websites, I have _two_ designer bathrobes because my boyfriend is an unimaginable sneak who also thinks I won’t notice if he puts another custom designed tee-shirt in one of the five drawers he gave me when he said he was giving me one. Can you let me buy you a coffee, _please?_ ”

Steve looks at him, cocks his head.

“Okay,” he says. “I…do we need to talk about this?”

“Is a bear a Catholic?” James says, but his furrowed brow smooths out again, and Steve bumps James’ shoulder with his own.

“I don’t mean to offend,” he says, and James shakes his head.

“It’s not…I mean, I don’t want to make you think…” and then he sighs. “Remember you said to me,” he says, “about your ex,” and Steve feels his body temperature drop a few degrees, “how you figured you were trying to guess what she wanted without asking?”

Stifling, Steve said. He’d said _stifling._

“I,” he says, finds that it sticks in his throat, but James must see the face he’s pulling or something, looks immediately contrite and holds up a hand.

“No, listen, I like surprises,” James says. “I _love_ surprises, I like it when you treat me, and I like it when you get me things and show me things and take me places or, y’know, _don’t_ take me places wink et cetera. I’m saying don't freak out, it’s not like your ex. But please.” James lowers his voice, just in case. “I love you, so will you please let me just buy you a goddamned cup of coffee? It’s two cups of coffee and two cinnamon buns. If I throw up, you can pay me back, but I’m twenty-one.” He glances around again. “And with my job I can afford coffee. Let _me_ treat _you_ for once.”

Steve looks at him, at his face and his chest and his hands, and then at the menu. He makes a fair point.

“Sure,” he says, and James, instead of walking to the counter, turns toward Steve and touches his hand to Steve's forearm.

“I don’t mean,” James says, but Steve shakes his head, takes James’ hand very briefly and squeezes it.

“You’re right,” he says. “Don’t get me a small.”

James scoffs, but goes ahead. 

He gets the donuts Steve was planning on, too - because Steve tells him as he orders, to give him the choice. Steve will carry them - it’s only fair he should - and James pays the lady, smiles, acts all charming (which isn’t difficult for him) and hands Steve his coffee.

They only go across the road to Fort Greene Park - it’s small but the leaves are turning, and the colors are rich. Steve waits until James has finished his cinnamon bun before he offers an elbow, and James grins at him.

“Hmm,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corner, nose wrinkled as he takes it. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Steve answers.

Steve thinks about getting out his camera again - he doesn’t usually make time for photography the way he did a few years ago. He hadn’t ever really thought about a camera until Sam suggested it. It wasn’t even that he was worried about the expense, it had just never occurred to him. When he’d been younger, there’d been a photo booth on Broadway, that he’d visited twice in his entire life, and then everyone else with cameras were reporters. 

When Sam had suggested photography, Steve had the sudden terrifying revelation that he could not only afford one but that he also had hundreds to choose from. He’d picked something commonly referred to as a bridge camera (so he was told) because he saw no need to spend an inordinate amount on professional equipment when he was only really doing it as a hobby. Still, he learned plenty by way of light and settings, and took a few pictures that Sam liked, one of the moon over Manhattan that Wanda got framed. 

“You okay?” James asks, and Steve nods, looks around.

“Yeah,” he says. “Thinkin’ of gettin’ my camera out, comin’ back maybe when some of these leaves start fallin’.”

James smiles a little.

“I didn’t know you took photos,” he says.

“Mmmh, sometimes,” Steve answers. “As a hobby,” And then, because Steve’s just as terrible as James is, “although I can’t seem to find a model, how ‘bout that?”

James chuckles.

“Right,” he says. “Smooth.”

But Steve shakes his head, looks around some more. The trees have turned to coppers and crimsons and golds, one or two of he more vulnerable trees are bare already, and Steve looks down at James, then.

“I mean it though,” he says. “All those colors with maybe a focal point in the foreground? I could do one the length of the steps - whaddya think, think I can find some sweet young man to stand in the middle of the picture for me with a couple pretty leaves or a nice cup of coffee?”

“Long as he gets to wear all his clothes,” James says, and Steve laughs.

~

It’s been too long since Steve meandered anywhere, and he finds that he’d forgotten how nice it is to do so without a time limit. He has nowhere to be, neither does James, and there’s relatively little foot traffic, so they’re mainly on their own. The sun isn’t quite as low in the sky as it will be in a few months, but it’s still late enough in the year that it gets to feeling like evening from maybe two o’clock in the afternoon. 

James seems to be having a great time sipping his maple latte - using his leather coffee sleeve, which he points out with a smile - and Steve just looks at the trees and the dappled shadows on the paving, shields his eyes from the low sun and watches the sparkle in James’ eyes. 

“Hey,” Steve says and James, who was busy watching a couple of birds on a nearby wall, looks at him.

“Yeah?” he says, and Steve stops walking, takes a proper look at him and tries not to mess this up.

“So,” he says, “I don’t mean to take away your independence.”

James looks about as awkward as Steve feels, with maybe a little sympathy in there too, and he shakes his head.

“No, that’s not what-” James says, but Steve takes a step closer, cups James’ bent elbow in his palm.

“James,” he says - he itches to tuck that stray strand of hair behind James’ ear, but he’s not sure he should even if he can. 

James threw him a little in the coffee shop - not unfairly so, his point was valid.

“What’s up?” James says, and Steve doesn’t get it, shakes his head.

“What do you mean?” he asks, and James smiles gently, not pity or, or regret or- it’s affection, Steve realizes belatedly and, oh, okay.

“You got all sad,” James says, but Steve’s already nodding, already looking away, yeah, he’s just realized.

He takes a good lungful of crisp, autumn air.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sorry, I don’t…”

James walks around him as he turns, gets in his personal space and smiles, bemused.

“What?” he says, and then a little less bemused and a little more concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Steve shakes his head.

“Not sure,” he says. “I just…” he sighs. “I’ll listen in future,” he says. “When you want to…I don’t know, pay for something or-”

“Steve,” James says, but Steve shakes his head.

“No, it’s fair,” he says, holding up a hand. “It’s fair. You’re right and I need to…”

James takes a step closer, tilts his head, observes Steve cautiously.

“Rejection?” he says, unsure, and Steve blinks a lot, feels his eyebrows raise.

 _Oh. That’s_ what that feeling is.

“I know it’s not,” Steve says. “What you said was fair-”

James nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “But still.”

Steve tries not to twist his mouth up but he knows he’s doing it anyway.

“It’s fair,” Steve says again, and James bites back a smile.

“You mentioned,” he says, and Steve narrows his eyes, bites back a smile of his own.

“Smartass,” he mutters, “respect your elders.”

James salutes sloppily, like a jackass.

“Sir, yes, Sir,” he answers, voice low, and then he leans toward Steve a little. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Commander Rogers, Sir,” and Steve passes his hand over his eyes.

“James,” he says in frustration, and James chuckles, takes another sip of his latte. 

“I promise the Commander I’ll let him treat me to dinner, Sir,” and Steve just raises one eyebrow because he _can_ and he’s _good_ at it. 

James cackles and Steve can’t keep a straight face for much longer after that.

“Steve?” James says, as they start walking again, and Steve looks at him.

“Yeah?” he says.

“I’m grateful, y’know. Thanks for everything. And I’m not rejecting you and I…wasn’t trying to like…tell you off or…”

Steve sighs though his nose.

“It sucked,” he says. “But you’re a person with wants and needs, and you want to buy your own coffee sometimes. I can handle that. And I’d rather you told me now and we talked about it, right?”

“Yep,” James says. “ ’Stead of six months when it’s a problem.”

“Right,” Steve nods, and they don’t really want to risk kissing in public, so Steve circles James’ wrist with his fingers and squeezes for a moment. “All good?”

“Hmm,” James grins. “Even though I didn’t let you buy me coffee?”

Steve looks at him for a long few moments. 

“I think maybe _especially_ because you didn’t let me buy you coffee,” he says. “But I’m holding you to letting me treat you with dinner. How’s carbonara?” 

“You I love carbonara,” James says, and Steve nods.

“I know,” he says and then, just to watch the look on James’ face, “but this time I made the pasta myself.”

~

They stay out until the chill of the golden afternoon turns into the cold rose light of evening, the sun low and getting lower, 

They throw away their trash (with James carefully removing his leather sleeve first) and Steve considers taking James somewhere else, except that it’s then that James pulls his shemagh and shivers.

“Look,” he says, grinning, and then breathes out into the air. “First time this year I’ve been able to see it. It'd be magical except my ears feel like ice.”

“Mhm,” Steve says, giving it a go himself, because why not? But he draws his coat a little tighter. “I don’t wanna be out too late, though, it’s…colder than I’d like.”

James frowns, looks at him.

“Really?” he says, and then, “I mean sure.But it’s…not just for me, right?”

Steve smiles a little, looks at the surrounding buildings, alight with the rays of the sunset. 

“Although I would absolutely take you home if I thought your cheeks were gettin’ too rosy, kiddo…No. I don’t like the cold. I’ll dress more appropriately next time but, for now? I want to go back and have a hot meal and a hot drink and curl up on the couch with you. That sound like a reasonable request?”

James nods.

“Part of one, at least,” he says suggestively, and Steve laughs softly.

“Then let’s go,” he says, “and you can show me a better idea, how about that?”

***

He finishes filing the ring two days after he punches that semicircle in his fingertip, and finishes the prototype of the leather piece while James works. The dye says it needs to be used in an _extremely_ well ventilated area, which Steve does, but it doesn’t smell any worse than nail polish does relatively, even to his enhanced senses. He burnishes and seals and punches and rivets, and he learns.

He learns how to make it perfect next time.

And then he starts again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’d like to learn more about coin rings, you can watch [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GTSvP1Igka4) on the history of coin rings, from Capital Coin Rings.
> 
> In the second world war, British and US intelligence agencies joined forces with the United States Playing Card Company to create a deck of cards that could be issued to soldiers. This deck of cards was manufactured in such a manner that, when cards were soaked in water, they would split into layers and reveal hidden maps. This was to aid POWs in their escapes. In honor of this, Bicycle playing cards produced a ‘map deck’ - the cards did not peel apart but, when placed in order on a flat surface, constructed a map.
> 
> Here is [a link to a timeline](https://66.media.tumblr.com/aac4be76b217f7b6ea54592e0a76d168/tumblr_inline_pg5mcewTA21rckout_500.png) if you'd like to know the dates of the occurrences in this fic up to part 10.


End file.
